Pieced Together
by ForestFireSong
Summary: (HetaOni AU) Once more, Italy finds himself alone, his friends having been killed by the monster. Before restarting the cycle of pain, Italy begins to write in his journal, putting in its page every time he was left with one other nation, and how he they helped give him the strength to go on, like he always would.
1. Chapter 1

_Got to run…got to go farther…o mio dio, it's the first loop all over again!_

Italy couldn't remember what the last scream ripped from his throat had been. He had no idea whose blood it was that had last stained his blue military uniform. He had lost track of time, of everything real.

He panted, collapsing on the ground on his knees. Even with his exceptional skill when it came to running away, the auburn-haired man was tired out. _Germany would just tell me to run faster, to run more laps…_

Italy winced. His face was already streaked darkly with tears, but just thinking of the blue-eyed man squeezed a few more from his eyes. Were all the rivers back home in Italy drying up?

Leaning against the wall, Italy fumbled for his journal. It was over. Everyone had died. Everyone. He was completely alone. It was time to go back, to start this all over again.

Staring down at the small brown book, Italy realized he'd have to travel back in time quickly, or the Thing might find him. Of course, he was a prize, a trophy, so the monster wouldn't kill him. But it would torture him further.

The auburn-haired man didn't even know which loop they were on. How many had they gone through? Hundreds? Thousands? All he could remember was that it had been awhile since he was fully alone before going back in time. Italy clenched his eyes shut. Germany had taken the blow that ended his life for him. He could still remember screaming and being dragged away by Romano and America. But the Thing had pursued them. Fratello and America had fallen. And now, just as he had feared, it was like the first loop all over again. He'd like to say it was less horrible, but it wasn't. The pain never got easier to bear. Smiling, pretending to be excited as he led his friends to his death in the form of a giant white mansion, an enormous clock, and a scone-colored monster.

Italy could feel himself catching his breath, which was good. He glanced down at the journal in front of him. Even now, it was just him and that journal. It held all the memories of his friends in there.

The Italian nation flipped it open, to the first blank page. He knew he shouldn't be wasting time and should start the cycle all over again. But he needed something to keep him going. He needed to immerse himself in the memories of his friends, or he'd drown himself in the sorrow of losing them.

_Dear_

Italy paused. Dear Diary, or Dear Journal, didn't seem necessary.

_ North_ _Italy Veneziano here. I am the very same Italy that all my friends told was not alone. But now I am. Their blood stains my clothes, their smiles haunt my memories, but they're gone. _

_I wish any of them were here. Romano, with his stubbornness and willing me on, Spain with his never ending optimism. Big Brother France would give me advice, England would use his magic, America would tell me everything would be all right with his childishness and determination. China would be practical as ever and Japan would show bravery no matter what. Russia and his fighting skill- and his strange vigilance in protecting everyone. Prussia would make me smile with his "awesomeness". That one blond guy…um…Canadia! No, Canada, I believe. Canada would always listen, and believe in me. And Germany…I want Germany to be here, more than anything, more than all the pasta in the world._

Italy felt a little bit better, recounting memories of his friends. Then again, it was painfully bittersweet, but he kept writing, determined to find remember some goodness.

_They were all my friend some much more than others, but we were never as close as we were now. I guess getting hunted down and nearly killed by a giant gray monster does something? This is where Germany would roll his eyes…_

_But back to originally. I learned how to trust everyone here. There's been a time it was only me and another nation- I guess we're people in here?- sometimes one that I was scared of, or didn't talk to much. But every time I heard the same thing. "You are not alone." They all knew my biggest fear, and they comforted me. They always said words of encouragement, and to go on and try again. _

Italy paused again, memories flooding back to him.

_Now that I'm all alone, and I have time, I'll honor this. I don't know if this will be erased by the time I start another loop, but I hope not. Because when I lose hope, I can look back on this and read about my valuable, irreplaceable friends. _

**A/N: PMD, anyone?**

** So, how was it? Did you like it? Did it suck? Is it completely overrated? I know, it's incredibly short. I've wanted to write this since I've played HetaOni, and basically it's Italy recounting, in his journal, each time he was alone and comforted by another nation. It'll have about 13 chapters- intro, ending, and 11 chapters for each nation in the house. (Excluding Italy.) It'll be in no particular order.**

**Also, if I'm wrong about something in HetaOni, please tell me! It's been awhile since I've played it and I'm liable to screw things up. And goodness, I'll stop the author notes here (hopefully they won't be so long in the future!) Just review, please, even a few words like "I like it/I hate it." Makes me happy.**


	2. Russia

**A/N: We are in one of Italy's memories. Let me assure you, this whole thing will turn out to be a cheesy, fluffy mess. Oh, and some slight RoChu~**

Italy stepped carefully through the halls of the house, or mansion more accurately. Oh, that cursed mansion.

He was panting slightly, his hands trembling, and his journal under his arm. Italy couldn't see himself in a mirror, but he was sure he was paper-white. A haze of memories started going through his mind.

Hadn't he been knocked out? The small nation remembered coming to in the library, all alone. He winced as he remembered who they had lost previously. Last thing he remembered was being attacked by the Thing along with France and Prussia. He was limping a bit, but other than that the auburn-haired man couldn't find any other injuries on himself. As for France and Prussia…

_Don't think about that._ It never got easier. In all the time loops, every time someone was lost the pain came back, fresh and new and unchanging.

Now Italy was following the sounds of battle he had heard previously. He approached the room near to the room that by the entrance to the basement.

Suddenly the door opened. Italy was prepared to fight the Thing, even though he couldn't fight and the Thing would probably mock him as usual. But to his surprise (and some form of relief) what emerged from the room was Russia.

Even though relief fell upon Italy, he still felt a flash of fear when looking at Russia. Normally when the violet-eyed nation smiled it scared the living daylights out of Italy, but he realized that Russia was actually much scarier when he wasn't smiling, and wearing the bitter, angry expression he had now.

Russia's long tan coat was stained darkly, but not nearly as bad as the pipe that he clenched in one hand. Italy averted his eyes, trembling. "R-Russia! Did you kill the Thing?" The auburn-haired man tried to look over Russia's shoulder into the room, to see if any of the others were coming out.

He was startled when a surprisingly gentle hand laid itself on his arm and slowly turned him away from the room. "I do not think you want to see what's in that room, Italy," Russia said, his voice low as he glanced furtively back at the room.

"You mean…you mean…" Italy knew exactly what the Russian man meant. There was no one left. Struggling for some scrap of hope, Italy asked, "You killed the Thing, right?'

Russia fingered his pipe. "Yes. It is dead. But, England and Canada were with me…" _And they didn't make back,_ Italy finished the sentence in his mind. "But we have nothing to worry about for now, da?"

"Yes…" Italy glanced down at his journal. He would have to go back in time. He was going have to smile the same smiles, cry the same tears, bleed and scream and fight.

Italy looked up at Russia. "You're tired," he guessed.

"I'm tired," Russia agreed. "But probably not nearly as tired as you. You should rest before you go back in time again."

"I don't think that matters," Italy replied. But he sank down against the wall. "I didn't even fight. Aren't you tired, Russia?"

"No, it is best I am still standing, because if the Thing comes again, I will be doing the fighting, da?" Italy pressed his diary to his chest. Outside of the mansion, he probably would've been scared that Russia had some ulterior motive.

But he thought deeper about the Russian man. Being in the mansion for who knows how many time loops had given him ample time to learn more about every nation in there. Russia, intimidating as he obviously was, made no secret that he cared about the others in there (whether so that they would all survive to become one with Mother Russia, it remains to be seen) and genuinely tried to protect them.

And more memories resurfaced to Italy on how they would all spend time together in the safe house Germany had built. China would normally take over cooking (with France distracting Britain from getting anywhere near anything) and Russia would wander over and start teasing the small Asian nation. China would flame red and shoo Russia away.

But there was always a small smile on his face, and whenever China thought nobody was looking he would truly smile. This was no particular loop in Italy's mind, just a recurring memory.

Taking a look another look at Russia, Italy thought about how lonely it would be to be so strong and powerful yet unable to protect that. In the end, the pipe and superior physical strength had won a battle. Their owner had lost much more.

It was almost like Russia had been reading Italy's thoughts- a very creepy but not hard to imagine idea- because he looked over and smiled. Not the smile that would freak Italy out and make him wave a white flag like no tomorrow, but a real, kind one.

Did they exchange human names in this loop? Was he Ivan or Russia? Italy decided it didn't matter. "Grazie, Russia,"

"Безопасные путешествия." And just like that, Italy was sure some things were not in vain.


	3. France and Canada, pt 1

Ever since the time loop where Italy had been alone with Russia in the end, ever since he had gotten a glimpse at Ivan beyond his terrifying outward expression- in all the loops after that one, Italy had watched the northern nation closer, trying to actually see him. And it wasn't just Russia- Italy found himself observing all the others in the mansion. He watched their relations with each other, what bound them together.

But Italy felt like he had failed with his own connections, his friendships. He felt like a coward and a traitor every time he smiled at his fellow nations, or had one of them comfort him. Italy had and was leading them to their slaughter, after all. But that was why he didn't give up.

The auburn-haired nation only wished that they could last together longer. Each loop, over and over again, they would be slain helplessly by the Thing. Fratello…all of his friends…Germany…oh, Germany…

Italy held his journal to his chest as France pulled him through the halls of the mansion. It was a kind of reassurance to him, telling him that there was another future, another loop not too far away where his brother and his friends, where the love of his life was alive.

_That's why you can't think about that last battle,_ Italy told himself. He and France had escaped their last battle with the Thing, but only narrowly. The two of them had arrived with England, and America, had been the only one to make it out of their group. Italy and France had no idea of who was alive in the other groups.

"That book makes you feel better, oui?" France asked, his voice hissing slightly with pain. He was limping; his dark blue uniform stained like Italy knew his own was. Still, Italy had already tried to bandage him, and had gotten protests on how the Thing would catch up to them, so he didn't note it then.

"It really does, France." Italy replied dully. "It really does."

France nodded, sighing. "So long as it calms you down…" the subject appeared to be dropped as his blue eyes were lost in an ocean of memories. "I only wished that they'd had…a little more time…"

Italy murmured some words of agreement. He knew what France was referring to. He clenched both his journal and France's hand a little tighter. Blond hair with a cowlick…thick eyebrows and closed green eyes…a room blasted from magic, gunshots still fresh in Italy's mind…glasses abandoned on the floor…two people, fingers entwined tightly.

Italy couldn't take it anymore. "Please, France, let me help you. You're hurt, and the Thing could come any time now."

France shook his head stubbornly. "Not now, Ita-chan. We need to find the other groups, and see if they've had a run-in with…it. I want to make sure everyone is safe before taking care of myself."

Italy considered what he was doing noble, but stupid. At least he had tried. Trying was what mattered in the screwed, warped, and twisted world that had sprung from the mansion.

Italy hadn't even noticed where they were, but they were approaching the piano room. He couldn't see anyone there, and was suggesting they look in a different room (even though all the rooms of the mansion were tainted, he hated the piano room most of all) when France startled him by yelling out, "Canada, mon cher!"

_Canada?_ Italy struggled to think for a moment. That was…who? Then it all came flooding back to him- long, wavy blond-ish hair, violet eyes, glasses, polar bear… he glanced at the piano in the room, which was where France was headed, and was surprised to see a young man standing there.

"Ah…France? Italy?" Canada took a step closer to the pair, almost like he couldn't believe they were real.

France released Italy's hand and stepped over to the young nation, wrapping him in what, to Italy's point of view, seemed like a suffocating hug. And the auburn-haired nation would know, as he had given out many himself.

"Canada, what happened? Do you know where the others are?" France asked, freeing the Canadian from his embrace.

"I came with Prussia and Germany…" he began slowly. "Russia, China, and Japan came later. But we ran into this giant…thing. Prussia and Germany…" Canada seemed to be shaking.

France was saying some quiet words of comfort to Canada, at least, that was what Italy assumed, but his thoughts had narrowed down to one word, one name. _Germany…this time, I didn't even get to say good-bye! What a short loop…what a short, sad, loop…and I don't even know about the other group…_

"Italy?" Canada was tugging on his sleeve. He was so quiet, his touch so light, Italy almost hadn't noticed. "We should be looking for Russia, China, and Japan. Come on…"

"Of course." Italy replied. He tried to put on a stronger front. He had cried too many times, seen things too horrific for this to make such an impact. Or, that was what he told himself. "Let's go."

As Italy exited the room with the two French-speaking nations, the Italian nation found his habit of observing creeping up again. He watched France and Canada. France nii-chan was usually so poised and elegant, never fazed. Canada was typically level-headed and calm. But Italy could see how terrified the two nations were. He could see how they leaned on each other, physically and mentally, using each other's strength.

Italy considered it bittersweet, the name of a sentiment he had been feeling too much lately. _Happy endings. I'll give you all happy endings, I promise…!_

As the traveled through the mansion, it was strangely silent apart from France and Canada's whispers in French. If the other three nations were there, Italy couldn't hear or see them. He didn't even consider the worst. _The mansion has its own strange magic. That could be it. And there are places we haven't explored yet…_

Suddenly France halted. Italy stopped abruptly as well, as to prevent himself from running into the taller nation. "What is it?" he asked in a nervous whisper.

France's lips parted slightly, but not a word came out. His grip on Canada's arm tightened. Then, suddenly, he had grabbed Italy and shoved both him and Canada behind himself. That was when Italy was confronted with what had been behind them the whole time.

Italy had seen countless horrible sights, so even though it was in his nature to scream, he had learned to prevent it. Such was the case at that moment, when they were greeted with the sight of the Thing, enormous and hulking and, as Prussia said many loops ago, "scone-colored".

Still, the fear factor remained at how stealthily the giant creature could follow them. Italy found himself frozen, his shoulder pressed against Canada's as France stood in front of them. As it turned out, Canada appeared to register what the Frenchman was going to do before Italy did.

"Attendez, France! Arrêter!" the blond nation called out. It was too late, though, as France had already drawn his sword. He cast a look over his shoulder- a sad smile, a heart-breaking look. It was tender when directed at Canada, but more urgent when he faced Italy. In that instant, the auburn-haired man knew what to do.

Italy grasped the back of Canada's jacket and dragged him backwards, Canada yelling in French all the while. Italy hated it. He hated having to pull Canada away, separating him from France in his inevitable final moments. He hated France sacrificing himself. But Italy also wanted to fulfill what he interpreted as the Frenchman's final wish of pulling Canada away before the Thing attacked.

"France! Je t'ai…" Canada doubled over coughing, alerting Italy to the fact that he too was injured. As he knelt down next to the Canadian nation, the blond lifted his head for a final call. "Ne m'oubliez pas…!"

Italy had never been fluent in French, despite France's constant attempts to teach him. But he knew what that one phrase meant. Sadness, guilt, anger, fear. Bittersweet.

"_France, what do you do if you don't want someone to forget you?"_

_I'm sorry, Canada…Matthew…that happy ending, it's not far away…_

**A/N: Sorry for taking so long!**

**If I remember correctly, France's attack was actually a healing/restoration move. But I gave him a sword because I saw it in an animation, and because, well, it's epic.**

**The next part will be up soon, hopefully…**


	4. France and Canada, pt2

**A/N: Cheesiness. When you fail at action scenes, turn to angst (like me X3) Although, the later chapters will definitely have scenes in the room full of Steves, the moon puzzle, the annex, etc. so bear with this until then!**

Italy had been hugged many times, by various nations, in and out of the mansion. Often he would get Germany to hug him so he could feel better over trivial matters, such as Romano being mean or England scaring him again. Then there were the times when he thoroughly and seriously upset.

Now, instead of being embraced, Italy was the one doing the embrace. He was hugging Canada close to him. They were in the room that had the entrance to the safe house Germany had built, the one he had taken refuge in during the first loop. Italy wasn't sure if Canada had been able to hear the horrible sounds of the battle between France and the Thing as he dragged him away, as the auburn-haired nation had been pressing his fellow pretty tightly into his blue military suit, but the awful noises still rang in Italy's mind. He had been fairly sure he had heard a "Vive la France!" as he and Canada escaped.

Italy hated France's sacrifice. He hated it so much. Why did the French nation have to do that? It was noble, but that didn't stop Italy from despising the Frenchman's choice, even if he understood it. He would've rather died by France's side, and he knew Canada felt the same.

_Then there'd be no one to continue the time loops…_ the reasonable voice in Italy's head chastised him.

The thought of giving up echoed in Italy's mind. It would be the easier way, and the less painless way. Feeling Canada limp in his arms, rather than struggling, and the uselessness he felt as he cradled the blond nation, the idea only became more and more appealing. The images of America and England, and Italy's imagination conjuring up horrific pictures of France, all contributed to simply giving into the monster's will.

"Italy…"

Italy released Canada. "Yeah?"

"This mansion…" Canada glanced around them. "That monster…There's something going on here. And you know, don't you?"

Italy didn't feel shock, or try to make excuses. It was too late for that. "Yes, this mansion has some sort of magic on it, or something." He hesitated. He could explain to Canada the time loops, the inability to escape from the mansion, how the Thing could appear in random places. He could tell Canada of his horrible experiences and how he nearly escaped in the rain. He could remind the blond, bespectacled nation of his human name, "Matthew Williams.'

But Canada seemed to take the simple "Yes" as enough.

"There's got to be a way to beat it, then." Italy wanted to believe that, desperately. But after so many loops, was it really possible? Wouldn't he have figured it out by then? "There are enough of us where we could figure out something, together."

"But, at least three of us are dead," Italy reminded Canada, making one last attempt to brush away the past loops and feign innocence.

Canada looked pained at that. But then he spoke determinedly. "I'm guessing that the mansion could change that?"

Then Italy could legitimately look shocked, because he hadn't been expecting the Canadian to draw that information from what he had already observed. "Yes, I will be seeing everyone again, alive."

"Then _learn, _Italy." Italy looked into Canada's violet eyes behind his glasses. They were full of grief, but they were also serious and earnest. "France was a sacrifice just now. If we're really all going to be alive, somewhere else, if you have a way to resurrect us, then he's not the only one. We'll all have to be sacrifices to make it out alive."

Italy's heart, mind, and body hurt. Everyone already had been sacrifices. He didn't like it. They were his friends after all.

Canada seemed to sense that. "Don't just give up, Italy. You have to use every attempt at life to work on something to get us out, eh?"

In a way, Canada didn't understand the pain Italy had to go through in every loop as everyone died over and over- himself included. But he seemed to have read Italy's thoughts. Looking at Canada, Italy could see how solid the nation was, and how smart, along with an array of other qualities, he was. Even if Canada was horribly timid, Italy couldn't see how he could be forgotten so often. In a way, he had to be the loneliest of them all.

"Hey, Canada…do you see this book?" Italy pulled out his journal and showed it to the blond nation.

"Isn't that your Bible?" Canada asked hesitantly.

"No." Italy needed to use all the information he had on the mansion for the next loops. He wanted to remember this loop, although it was unlikely he'd forget. Besides, the journal shouldn't only have his writing. "Let me tell you about this…"


End file.
